


bride of frankenstein

by rocoroloco (wafumayo)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Body Horror, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fucked Up, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafumayo/pseuds/rocoroloco
Summary: “He won’t be able to get away with it any longer, that sick murderer.” He smiles down at his gloved hands, where he can still feel the phantom chill. “I swear I’ll catch him with my own hands and serve him to justice.”A mysterious serial killer and self-proclaimed artist who goes by the moniker of Joker has been terrorizing the streets of Tokyo for months now, and Akechi Goro, one of the youngest detectives in the precinct, is hot on his trail.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	bride of frankenstein

**Author's Note:**

> This is again from a 15_hugs prompt meme LOL! Sure doesn't feel that way, right? With that out of the way: Please read the tags! This fic is pretty wacky! I tried to get as much as I could but if there is anything that I didn't tag that you feel like I should have, please tell me! There's a lot in here so I might have missed some stuff. 
> 
> Big thank you to Blazhy, Lala, and Goroboy! You guys literally saved me when I wrote this because 1) I needed that final push and 2) I didn't have that many ideas honestly, other than "uh, skinning people?" Thank you for your help, advice, and generally just being there for me! And also kudos for being brave enough to let me credit you in here.
> 
> I'll admit right now that I didn't watch Hannibal so before you ask, no, this is not based on Hannibal, even though my friend immediately yelled that I'm essentially writing the plot of Hannibal in here.

The call was received at 4:00 A.M., called in by a hysterical jogger who had been enjoying the crisp and cool air of the early summer morning when he’d stumbled across the heavily mutilated body of missing politician Shido Masayoshi.

Akechi, Sae, and a few other police officers arrived at the scene at 4:12 A.M. The police car barely pulled to a stop before Akechi opened the door and ran out, his heart pounding hard and fast. 

There, before him, hanging from the pillars and spikes of the metal art installation ‘Frame For The Future’ by his intestines, was what remained of Shido Masayoshi.

Recognizable from the skin left on his face - practically the only part of him still covered by it. He’d been almost entirely skinned, naked, with the blood, lymph and pus already crusted over. An odd protrusion is stuck in his mouth, and where his penis once was there hung a fleshy cork.

“A pig’s penis,” Sae murmurs. Her face is as expressionless as ever, to Akechi’s relief, but he can see the minute trembling in her hands as she snaps on a pair of latex gloves and approaches the body. 

Akechi copies her, tugging off his leather gloves and replacing them with latex ones; they were an expensive gift and he wouldn’t want to dirty them. “A sick joke, most likely, and a jab at what the masses were calling Shido-san after Alibaba leaked all the sex scandals he covered up over the years.”

He can feel the weight of Sae’s worry on the back of his neck and he ignores it. He tries to keep his own shivers under check as he takes in the scene with a careful gaze.

The corpse was hung like he was crucified, and now that Akechi is closer, he can see that the body was held up by wires rather than just the organs. The cold metal cut cruelly into the exposed muscle, cracking the scabs formed over the skinned corpse.

He recognizes what’s been stuffed into Shido’s mouth: what appears to be his own penis, artistically cut and peeled until it resembled one of the blooming onions that he’s seen on one of his boyfriend’s late-night cooking YouTube binges. Where Shido’s penis used to be, there is now, as per Sae’s observation, a pig’s penis, attached by what Akechi assumes to be black suture.

“Huge chunks of the flesh are missing,” Akechi notes. He points out each section - the armpits, the inner thigh, behind the knee, the buttocks - and he sees one of the policemen jot it down in his notebook. “This level of cruelty...It’s definitely Joker’s doing.” 

A shiver runs through his body and he tightens his jaw, thinking back on the phantom degenerate serial killer who’s stalked Tokyo for months now, evading capture the entire time. 

Joker’s escalating though, if Shido’s body is any indication. 

Okazaki, a former kazoku noble, had been found fourteen days prior, his eyes gouged out and his body forcibly posed into a caricature of Munch’s “The Scream.” Large chunks of his leg had been removed, albeit messily, likely done with a dull blade, and the skin around his face had been carved off.

Takayama, a television executive, had been discovered nine days before, his body butchered and organized in the shape of a heart symbol with Takayama’s head, his mouth mutilated into a Glasgow grin, placed next to it. Autopsy revealed that several of his major organs, including his liver and his small intestines had been removed.

Just five days ago, Ooe, a politician, was found severed into two, with his head missing and replaced by the head of a pig. The torso and legs had been suspended from a tree outside a middle school, posed like a lewd marionette.

The policemen, who had all been retching and holding back tears when Joker first started his art, nod clinically. 

One of them, Chiba, shoots Akechi a pitying look and this time, Akechi can’t help but bristle at the attention. “Akechi-san,” Chiba says, his tone soft and careful, “are you okay? We understand if this is too much for you. Shido-san was your father, right?”

Akechi smiles widely at him. He can feel the foundation and concealer caked onto his skin crack at the edges. “Oh, please, Chiba-san. I can do my job without any problems. You don’t need to worry about me. Shido-san and I were never close.”

Oddly enough, that doesn’t soothe Chiba, who looks down at the ground, his expression pinched.

“We can assume that Joker had kidnapped Shido then, and that’s where he’d been before discovery?” One of the other policemen, Shiratori, asks.

“We can’t rule anything out,” Sae replies, her gaze fixed on the body’s inner thigh. “We need more information, more - Wait, what’s that over there?”

She gestures to the ground, past the corpse’s bloated feet, where veins that had been dyed deep crimson were arranged into a heart. From the tip of the heart, the veins were tied together in a loose knot and formed into a red string, leading into the bushes. 

Sae takes out her sidearm as a precaution and follows the string, her footsteps somehow light on the pavement despite her heels.

Akechi takes his phone out from the back pocket of his pants and walks after her, confident that any potential danger would be dispatched by his commanding officer. 

Policemen in Japan aren’t used to shooting or using their guns, but Joker’s crimes have the entire force on edge, wondering when they would stumble across another deformed corpse. Or worse, the Phantom Killer himself.

What he sees at the end of the red string makes the breath catch in his throat, and he sees Sae take a step back, the unflappable policewoman actually in shock at what she was looking at.

Wrapped in butcher’s paper was Ooe’s head, with Okazaki’s cloudy grey eyes stuffed into his mouth. A liver was tucked in next to Ooe’s ear, with chunks of flesh cut and arranged into roses framing the head. The entire bouquet, if one could call it that, was tied together with what appeared to be a dried out small intestine, with a paper bow taped sloppily in front of it.

The blowflies covering the display refuse to move, until Sae walks forward and waves her hand angrily over the mass of flesh. 

“He’s vile,” Sae murmurs, her fist clenched at her side as she grits her teeth, glaring down at the bouquet. “Who does he think...what does he think human lives are? They aren’t... _toys_ for him to play around with.”

“Sae-san,” Akechi places a soothing hand on his shoulder and gently nudges her away, back towards the other policemen. “I’ll take over from here.”

Sae gives him an unreadable look but nods, stalking away with her head held high, as if the outburst of emotion never happened.

Akechi turns back and bites his lip, aiming his phone camera at the bouquet and taking several pictures from numerous angles. He gets in as close as he can, his hand shaking slightly. He grips his left wrist with his hand to steady it and takes close-up shots of every detail. 

He picks up the bouquet, careful not to let any of it touch him lest he sully the evidence, and walks back out into the park. Chiba, Shiratori and the other policemen wince and back away when they see what’s in Akechi’s hand.

“I guess we know where the missing body parts of the other victims went,” Chiba mutters, looking blue in the face, his hand covering his mouth. 

Akechi carefully hands the bouquet to Shiratori, who grimaces before heading back to the police car to bag it. 

“This is a good thing,” he says, giving his co-workers an encouraging smile, “because we’re one step closer to catching Joker. He’s getting sloppy. Bold. We might be able to find some DNA on that bouquet.”

“Bouquet?” Chiba asks, but Akechi barrels on.

“He won’t be able to get away with it any longer, that sick murderer.” He smiles down at his gloved hands, where he can still feel the phantom chill. “I swear I’ll catch him with my own hands and serve him to justice.”

He doesn’t hear Sae approach him until he feels her hand clasp heavily on his shoulder. “Your shift just started,” she says, looking at Shido’s body rather than him, “but I think you should take the rest of the day off, Akechi-kun. Clear you mind a little bit before coming back to work tomorrow.”

Akechi frowns. He doesn’t have _time_ . He has to start on the trail _now_ , while all the evidence is fresh. “But -”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Sae turns to look at him, a genuine and sincere smile gracing her lips. There was no trace of pity in her open expression, as far as Akechi can see. “Go home and spend it with you boyfriend. We’ll take it from here.”

Akechi nods reluctantly. “You’ll call me if there are any developments in the case?” He asks slowly. 

“Of course,” Sae replies. 

She pulls the glove off her right hand and briskly runs it through Akechi’s hair. The early summer heat had caused sweat to build up under the glove, and the perspiration catches on some of his strands. The two of them wince for widely different reasons and Akechi pulls away before Sae can get it in her head to try again. 

With the unofficial okay from his superiors and his colleagues, Akechi sits back into the passenger seat of the police car and allows Sae to drive him back to the apartment, while Chiba and the other policemen continue the investigation.

After yet another affirmation that _yes_ , if they find anything from the evidence, they’ll call him back down to the precinct, Akechi waves his goodbye to Sae and returns home, unlocking the door with his key.

“Honey, I’m home,” he says softly and jokingly, uncaring of whether it’s heard or not.

The apartment feels oddly empty - the tarp that had taken up the majority of the floor space for a day and a half to keep the flooring clean and relatively free of evidence must have been cleared away by Akira. Plastic still covers the furniture though, tainted dark red. 

To his surprise, Akira, his boyfriend who notoriously never wakes up before noon, is sitting at the kitchen table, whittling carefully at a candle with a knife.

The stench of meat and fat permeates the apartment. A bucket filled with water and long sheets of skin sits near the door and Akechi makes a mental note to move it somewhere a bit more out of the way before he goes to sleep that night. It would be a shame if they accidentally damaged the fragile skin again. Not to mention the pain of cleaning up water from a wooden floor. 

Despite the early morning, the sunlight pierces through the blinds and casts dazzling halos around the room, the scene especially idyllic after what Akechi had been looking at in the park and he doesn’t stifle the slow smile that grows on his face as he thinks wonderingly on how lucky he is to have this life now, compared to the dark loneliness of before.

Akira looks up and sets down both knife and candle, running over with a bright smile on his face. “Goro!” He gives Akechi a tight squeeze and runs his hand down Akechi’s back. He hopes that the grease from the candle didn’t get all over his jacket - he still needs to wear it tomorrow for work. “You’re back early.”

“They let me go home early,” Akechi sighs, “considering it’s my birthday and my father was found dead in a park.”

Akira frowns. “That’s a bit of a callous way to word it.”

“Sorry. My father was turned into an art fixture for the park.” 

“I certainly hope my artwork is more tasteful than the ‘Frame For the Future,’” Akira replies airily. He steers Akechi towards the living room couch and sits down on the cushion, manoeuvring Akechi so that the detective straddles his lap. “You hated that art piece last time we walked around in that park.”

Akechi smiles and leans forward to brush his lips against Akira’s forehead. “The model is hideous, but the work was exquisite. I couldn’t stop shaking when I saw it, I was touched by its beauty.”

“Stop, you’ll make me blush,” is the last thing Akira says before he grips Akechi’s hair in his hand and tugs him downward, their lips meeting in a slow and languid kiss. 

Akechi parts his lips when he feels Akira do the same and inserts his tongue, exploring his boyfriend’s mouth. Even though the taste of coffee and _Akira_ are never a surprise, Akechi can never feel bored when kissing him. Akira is so talented with his tongue, cajoling and playful, that he never fails to turn Akechi into a metaphorical pile of putty with his mouth alone. 

“Were you drinking coffee?” Akechi pants when he finally pulls apart for air.

Akira perks up immediately. “Actually, I was baking your birthday cake. I was going to bring it down to the station for you at lunchtime. C’mere, I’ll show you.”

Akechi climbs off Akira’s lap and allows Akira to tug him back towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a small coffee cake. It’s smooth and perfectly iced, with walnut praline studding the delicate dessert. There’s just enough for the two of them to have two small slices each and the bittersweet aroma is already causing saliva to build up in Akechi’s mouth.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Akira says softly. He pulls Akechi close to him and holds him close to his body, his face buried into the crook of Akechi’s neck. Every word that Akira says sends puffs of heated air against Akechi’s sensitive skin and he suppresses the shivers as best as he can. “But not yet. You’ll ruin your appetite. I’ll show you your second gift.”

“Second gift?” Akechi echoes, but Akira pulls away with a light peck to his cheek. He opens the fridge and gently places the cake back inside. 

He jerks his chin towards the table and Akechi follows him there, morbidly curious until Akira picks up the the project he had been carving at when Akechi came home 

He doesn’t know much about Akira’s life before Joker, but he’s always blown away by his ingenuity, his commitment to find use for everything in the world. Even the cadavers, who were all pieces of scum in life, ended their natural lives as art, parchment, or utensils. 

Even he, a living piece of human garbage, was given use as Akira’s boyfriend, finally able to find a true meaning to being on the police force, to allow Akira more breathing room in his murderous pursuits. 

The candle Akira had been whittling is an off-white, thick and short, with the words “Happy Birthday, Goro” carved into the candle. Some parts of it are a little deformed at the edges, and already melting somewhat in the heat of the apartment. It’s a shoddy job, as far as Akira’s usual artwork is when he moonlights as Joker, but given the limited timeframe he had to make it, it’s amazing.

“I wanted to whittle it into the shape of a bird,” Akira admits, “but it wasn’t coming along very well at all. It’s harder than I thought to carve a candle made of fat, and Shido wasn’t the pudgiest man in the world.”

Even after all the gifts and affection showered upon him, Akechi can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the gesture. That Akira would waste hours and hours of his time trying to make something personalized, just for him. He shakes his head and smiles softly, the expression smooth and natural on his face. 

“It’s beautiful, but why a candle?”

“We’ve been planning for Shido for _months_ now,” Akira sighs wistfully, “and I wanted a little something to commemorate this. After we use it for your birthday cake, we’ll freeze it so we can look back on it any time we want. Everything else we made is locked up in an evidence room somewhere.”

“Your devotion is sweet, but I’m not sure if the philistines at the police station kept them,” Akechi says, thinking back on what had been done to all of Akira’s previous artworks. “I actually don’t know what happened to them all.”

For a second, a shadow passes over Akira’s expression, his fists clenching at his side. The photos that Akechi takes at every crime scene are all saved on a hard drive, as well as being printed out and framed in their bedroom, but Akira is the type of person who thrives off of attention, whether positive or negative. It must anger him to think that everything they worked on were demolished, never to be seen or touched again. 

But before Akechi can say anything, Akira shakes his head as if to dislodge his own thoughts and smiles up at him again. 

“Come on, it’s still early in the morning. Let’s take a nap and then eat your cake later,” Akira says, giving Akechi a playful shove with his shoulder, steering him gently into their shared bedroom. 

The low glow of the morning light that had been piercing into the living room dissipates in the dark of the room, unable to get through the dark blinds over the windows.

Akira pushes a protesting Akechi down onto the bed, covering up his claims of “I’m not tired” with their red summer blanket. Morgana, their cat (Akira’s cat, technically), slumbers peacefully on the windowsill, undisturbed by the commotion raised by his owners.

Despite being wide awake just seconds ago, Akechi feels himself being lulled to sleep, Akira’s hand warm on his head and Akira’s deep voice surrounding him on all sides. Recollecting to him how Shido had screamed and begged and apologized, all while Akira was slicing him into pieces with a knife. How Akira had shot adrenaline after adrenaline into Shido’s body every time Shido had tried to pass out to escape. 

“The skin will be turned into parchment, just like what we wanted to do with Okazaki before Morgana tipped over the barrel,” Akira whispers into Akechi’s skin, “and upon it, I’ll write about how you’re the most beautiful person in the world. A love letter, from me to you.”

“Do you have to do it on _his_ skin,” Akechi thinks he grumbles, and if he did, he doesn’t hear the answer. He must have been more tired than he realized, because within seconds, Joker’s lullaby put him to sleep.

Akira runs his hand through Akechi’s hair and smiles down at his boyfriend, who slumbers on peacefully, as if the hand on his head wasn’t stained with blood and sin. He presses a kiss to the top of Akechi’s head and envelops him into his arms, clutching him close to his chest and savouring in the warmth and the scent. 

“Don’t worry, Goro,” Akira murmurs, knowing full well that his words fell on deaf ears. “I’ll make you into my greatest masterpiece one day. You’ll never be unloved ever again."

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is not going to be linked to any of my dead doves but my Tumblr is [surelynotshirley](http://surelynotshirley.tumblr.com). I know that not linking my Twitter on here is doing shit because you can access it from another fic and also my username but it's...just the principle of the matter, a little.


End file.
